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Yellow Flower is Moonlight

💬A/n: I finally finished this piece since it took a different route then original. This piece was inspired by @offmoose (Their art is amazing! Please check them out💕). To Eat A God by @soffis-mbm is a 16+ biblical horror yandere sim game, with unforgettable twist and turn, I can't get enough! I really love this visual novel. I highly recommend. Masterlist Part 1

🦝Summary: it several months since Nulla has nothing but kind to you however, you felt he is hiding something. what is he hiding? Why does it felt like endless dance?

☢️disclaimer: nothing really but some heated tease.

It had been several months since he first brought you to his hacienda villa.

You sat curled on the sofa in the study, shoulders tucked in, turning one of Nulla’s cookies between your fingers. The scent of warm sugar and citrus still clung to it. You remembered the first time he’d brought you something he’d baked—how you’d stared at it like it was a lure, a trick, a test. Then he’d mentioned, almost casually, that he owned a well-known restaurant just down the hill.

It shouldn’t have made you feel safer. But somehow… it had.

Your gaze drifted from the cookie to him.

Nulla sat at his desk with his sleeves rolled up, forearms tensed as he flipped through stacks of papers. Profit charts. Vendor invoices. Menu drafts covered in clean, elegant handwriting. The golden lamplight brushed against his skin, illuminating faint shadows beneath his eyes. His posture was stiff, held together by discipline rather than rest—like a man refusing to collapse.

He looks exhausted…

The thought pressed into your chest.

Maybe he hasn’t been sleeping. Maybe it’s because of me. Do I even have the right to ask—?

You bit into the cookie, gaze falling to the carpet as your thoughts twist themselves into knots.

“Mi vida,” his voice slid into your thoughts, warm but edged with fatigue, “is the cookie not to your liking?”

Your head snapped up. He’d leaned back in his chair, looking over his shoulder at you. When your eyes met, a soft flush rose to your cheeks. You shook your head quickly.

“No—it’s amazing. Really.” You swallowed, feeling your courage wobble. “It’s just… did you sleep well last night?”

Nulla stilled.

His eyes widened a fraction—barely noticeable, but enough to reveal how much the question landed. He stared, silent, as if he was trying to understand the meaning behind your concern.

Your fingers tightened around the cookie. “S-sorry, I just—you looked tired and I thought— I mean, I was… worried—”

“You were worried?” His voice dropped, soft and careful, almost reverent.

He rose slowly from the chair, straightening to his full height. The room seemed smaller with him standing. Each step he took toward you was unhurried and deliberate, and your heart reacted before your mind did—thudding hard, fast.

You looked away, feeling heat bloom across your cheeks as he approached.

When he reached you, his expression had changed. Calm, yes—but threaded with something warm. And satisfied. Like your worry was a gift he hadn’t expected to receive.

“May I sit beside you?” he asked quietly.

Your nod was tiny. Timid. But it was enough.

A faint smile curved the corner of his lips. He lowered himself onto the sofa, leaving a sliver of space so you wouldn’t feel trapped… yet close enough that his warmth ghosted against your arm.

Silence settled over the room—thick, gentle, broken only by the steady ticking of the old clock.

You stared at the cookie like it could protect you.

Nulla watched you like you were something fragile and irreplaceable—something he still didn’t believe he deserved.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” he murmured, his shoulder nearly brushing yours. “But… I’m glad you do.”

Your breath hitched. Something raw lived in his voice now, something he didn’t show anyone else.

“Why haven’t you been sleeping?” you whispered.

A long pause. A slow, weighted inhale.

When he finally spoke, it sounded like a confession dragged from the deepest part of him.

“Because when I close my eyes… I am afraid you won’t be here when I wake.”

You froze. Your eyes widened slightly as your heart skipped a beat.

The cookie loosened in your hand.

His fingers twitched—like he wanted to reach for you, brush your cheek, hold your hand. But he stopped himself, pulling in a steadying breath.

“You’re free to leave anytime,” he said softly. “You know that.” His eyes lowered in thought, leaning in slightly closer for your warmth. “But you stay. Your presence brings me a peace I haven’t felt in a very… very long time.”

Then he lifted his gaze to you again—honest, longing, vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.

“Thank you for worrying about me,” he whispered. “It means more than you know.”

Warmth spread through your chest—dangerous, undeniable.

“You’re welcome…” you breathed, noting how closer your lips were to each other.

A small smile touched his lips. Not charming. Not calculated. Human.

He leaned back, yet close enough that your arms brushed. You turned away, hiding your flushed cheek. After a quiet moment, he asked, “Why did you stay with me for so long?”

Your heart spoke before your mind caught up.

“I don’t know. I just… feel like I belong beside you.”

Nulla let out a soft chuckle—one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His expression shifted, the warmth pulling back like the tide.

Your brow furrowed. “Nulla?”

He stared straight ahead. “Of course,” he murmured, voice distant and disappointed. “You wouldn’t remember. Foolish of me.”

“What?” you asked, breathing unsteady.

His eyes widened slightly—barely—and he exhaled a long, tired breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Nothing, vida,” he said gently, forcing a smile. “Why don’t you go to bed?”

He stood, smoothing out his sleeves, and returned to his desk as though he could bury the moment beneath paperwork.

You hesitated—one heartbeat, two—then quietly rose.

“…Okay.”

You walked to the door, hand hovering on the knob. As you began to close it, your eyes flicked back inside.

Nulla had taken out a small photograph from a locked drawer.

He held it with such care… as if touching something sacred. As if touching you.

A strange, restless ache twisted inside you.

You closed the door softly.

Leaning back against it, you sucked in a sharp breath as the world spun in your mind. Everything from the last several months tangled together—your safety, your confusion, his tenderness, his secrets.

Why did he buy you? What didn’t you remember? Why did your chest hurt when he smiled like that?

It all spun around you in circles—hypnotic, dizzying.

You realized, painfully, that despite living under his roof, you still knew almost nothing about Nulla.

Only small, simple things. Like how yellow flowers are his favorite. How he softens when you say his name. How he watches you like you’re someone he’s already lost once.

Nulla, your savior… Nulla, the man who feels like a void you can’t see into, yet escapes.

You stared at the ceiling, thoughts fracturing. A huff slipped from your lips as you pushed yourself off the wall, needing motion before your mind swallowed you whole.

You walked to your room for the night.

—--------------

Nulla stayed seated long after y/n closed the door.

The soft click of the latch echoed faintly in the room, swallowed by the warm hum of the lamplight. He leaned back in his chair, spine sinking into the worn leather as the exhaustion he’d been holding at bay finally slipped through the cracks.

Slowly, he brought a hand up and combed his fingers through his hair, pushing the dark strands away from his face. His eyes—still fixed on you behind the screen—softened with something dangerously close to tenderness.

“I know you’re watching me, mi vida,” he whispered.

The words floated into the quiet, meant only for the empty room… or maybe for the ghost of the past he saw every time he looked at you. His smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, small but aching with memories he guarded too closely.

He lifted the photograph again for a final glance—thumb brushing the image with almost reverent care—before slipping it back into the drawer as though returning a treasure to its shrine.

The drawer closed with a soft click.

His smile lingered, but it wasn’t the charming one he used on others. It was the smile of a man holding something precious and painful all at once.

“You will see,” he murmured to the silence, “ soon enough...”

He leaned back, letting his head rest against the chair, his fingers brushing the edge of the drawer like a promise only he understood. He walked to the kitchen, leaving the drawer unlock

—------------------

It was past midnight, yet sleep refused to touch you.

You laid on your back, staring at the ceiling fan as it made slow, lazy circles—its soft hum doing nothing to quiet the storm inside your head. Every thought spiraled back to the same place:

Nulla knew something you didn’t. Something he almost said. Something he regretted letting slip.

Why did it feel like the two of you were caught in a loop—dancing the same dance, replaying the same melody your heart half-remembered but couldn’t name?

With a frustrated sigh, you pushed yourself upright. The sheets clung to you with the warmth you couldn’t feel. You wrapped your robe around your shoulders and stepped into the hallway, letting the cool night air kiss your skin.

The villa felt different at night—so quiet it bordered on sacredness.

You walked slowly along the open corridor, your fingers brushing the stone railing as you glanced down into the moonlit courtyard below. Yellow blossoms glowed faintly in the silver light, their petals shimmering like scattered stars.

If I’m a flower in sunlight, you mused, a small laugh escaping you, then he must be one in moonlight.

The thought warmed you unexpectedly.

You pushed open the door to the living room—the space that connected to Nulla’s study. The soft glow of the dying fireplace illuminated the room just enough for you to see him.

Nulla was asleep on the couch.

A blanket had slipped halfway off his body, leaving his shoulders exposed to the cold. Even in sleep, he looked exhausted—brow faintly furrowed, chest rising in slow, uneven breaths. Strands of dark hair had fallen over his face, shadowing the edges of his expression.

Something tugged at your chest.

You approached quietly, careful not to wake him. With both hands, you lifted the blanket and gently pulled it up over his shoulders. You would hate it if he got sick. Your fingers brushed warm skin.

He didn’t stir.

You hesitated… then reached out, brushing the stray strands of hair away from his face. The movement was tender—more tender than you meant it to be. His features softened beneath your touch.

When your fingertips traced the line of his cheek, Nulla unconsciously leaned into your palm, nuzzling it with a soft, content sigh.

Then—he smiled.

A real smile. Gentle. Unarmored.

Color rushed to your cheeks so fast it made your breath hitch. You withdrew your hand slowly, straightening before your knees could give out.

You turned away, ready to slip back to your room—when something caught your eye.

The study door was open.

A faint draft stirred the papers inside, rustling them just enough to send a shiver up your spine.

Drawn as though by instinct, you stepped toward the threshold.

And in the corner of the desk, half-hidden beneath a stack of reports… you noticed the edge of the photo Nulla had tucked away earlier.

You walked to the desk as though drawn by a magnet—like this moment was something inevitable, something that had been waiting for you all along.

Your fingers trembled as you reached toward the photograph. You lifted it carefully, the old paper soft around the edges from years of handling.

Your breath caught.

It was Nulla smiling directly at the camera.

But beside him… was you.

Your arms wrapped around his, laughing, radiant, alive in a way you had no memories of ever being. Your smile was bright, unguarded. His was warm, almost shy.

It felt like staring at a stranger wearing your face.

“What the hell…” you whispered, frozen.

You looked again—and noticed the drawer beneath the desk had been left open. Inside were dozens of photographs, all of them variations of the same impossible truth: You and him, together. Yet,his expression grew duller, emptier, lonelier, picture by picture.

A soft voice drifted from behind you.

“You found them, mi vida?”

You spun around.

Nulla leaned against the doorway, arms folded, as though he’d been watching you for longer than you realized. Moonlight framed him, silvering the edges of his hair. A faint smirk curved his lips, but his eyes—those dark, tired eyes—held something fragile.

You took a shaky step back, holding the photograph to your chest. “Nulla… what is going on?”

He walked toward you slowly, like one would approach a frightened animal—calm, measured, gentle. When he reached you, he lifted a hand and cupped your cheek. His thumb brushed your lips, guiding your gaze back to him.

His voice was soft. Too soft.

“You act as if you didn’t choose to read this fanfic, mi amor.”

Your heart stuttered. “W-what are you talking about?” Nulla—this isn’t part of the script.

His breath hitched in a painful laugh. “No. No, it never is.” He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, tracing the shape of it like he was memorizing it. “We’ve been dancing to this same tune for too long. Falling in love over and over… only for you to forget me each time the world resets.”

Your pulse throbbed in your throat.

Nulla’s voice cracked. “I just want to hold you—for one lifetime. Just one.” His other arm slid around your waist, pulling you softly against him. Tears welled in his eyes, shimmering in the dim light. “Let me feel you… before you disappear from me again.”

You felt something warm drip onto your cheek. His tears.

The truth—or the beginning of it—clicked together inside you like a lock turning.

Your hands lifted, cupping his face, your thumb brushing away the tear that followed. His forehead rested against yours, breath trembling against your lips.

You whispered, “Okay… I’ll fill your cup, Nulla.”

Nulla’s breath trembled against your lips.

For a moment, neither of you moved—held together only by the soft press of your foreheads and the unspoken truth hanging trembling between you.

His hand slid from your cheek to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair as if afraid you might vanish if he touched you too firmly.

“Mi vida…” he whispered, voice raw, “I’ve waited so long to hear you say that.”

You felt his heartbeat—fast, frantic—against your chest.

Then, almost like he was giving you one final chance to pull away, he brushed the tip of his nose against yours. The faintest, trembling touch.

You didn’t pull away.

His lips parted on a shaky breath, smiling.

And finally—slowly, reverently—Nulla closed the distance.

The kiss was soft at first. Barely a touch. A question more than an answer.

His lips felt warm against yours, delicate, as though he feared the slightest pressure might shatter you. His thumb stroked your jaw, coaxing you closer. His other arm tightened around your waist, drawing you gently against him until your bodies aligned in a way that felt like memory—like something your muscles remembered even if your mind didn’t.

You melted in his arms.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, gripping the fabric as if that were the only thing keeping you steady. The warmth of him seeped into your skin, drowning out the cold fear that had lived in your bones for so long.

He kissed you again—deeper this time.

Slow. Tender. Desperate. Not wanting you to forget how he made you feel.

A soft sound escaped him—a barely-there whimper, caught in the back of his throat—as though the sweetness of the moment hurt. As though he didn’t believe you would still be in his arms when he opened his eyes.

His tears brushed your cheek, warm against your skin.

“I missed you,” he breathed against your lips between soft, trembling kisses. “You have no idea how much I missed you.”

Your heart throbbed painfully.

You lifted your hands to his face, holding him steady, grounding him. His breathing hitched as your fingers brushed the edges of his jaw.

You kissed him back—slow, certain, choosing him with every small movement.

When you finally pulled away for air, your lips still hovering inches from his, his eyes were glassy and full of something achingly human.

Hope. Fear. Love that had survived too many endings.

His forehead rested against yours once more.

“Mi amor…” he whispered, voice trembling, “don’t leave me again.”

“I’m right here,” you whispered back. You swallowed, thumb brushing his cheek tenderly.

Nulla’s breath hitched. Nulla closed his eyes, letting the words settle into him like a prayer—one he’d waited lifetime

Something in him broke—softly, quietly, like a thread snapping under the weight of hope. His hand tightened at your waist, pulling you flush against him, and the shift drew a small gasp from your lips.

His eyes darkened.

“Say it again,” he murmured, voice low and unsteady. “Mi vida… look at me and say you’re here.”

“I’m here,” you breathed, your lips brushing his.

He exhaled sharply—relief, hunger, devotion all tangled together—then he kissed you again, no hesitation this time.

The kiss turned deeper, warmer. His thumb stroked along your lower lip before his mouth claimed it, slow but devastatingly sure. You felt him press you back gently, guiding you until your hips met the edge of the desk behind you.

Wood against your thighs. Nulla’s body against yours.

His hands slid down your back, exploring the dip of your waist as if relearning familiar territory. One settled at your hip; the other rose to cup the back of your neck, tilting your head so he could kiss you deeper—

—and you let him.

Your fingers clung to the front of his shirt, tugging him closer, needing more than the closeness he’d already given. When your nails grazed lightly across his chest, a low sound vibrated from him—something dark, needy, restrained only by his love for you.

He pressed his forehead to yours, trying to breathe, failing.

“You really don’t remember what you do to me do you,” he whispered, thumbs brushing your waist. “You never do even after this time”

The warmth of his breath ghosted against your lips.

His hand slipped under the edge of your robe—slow, asking permission even as his body trembled with want. His fingertips traced the curve of your hip, feather-light but enough to send a shiver racing through you.

Nulla smiled against your mouth when he felt it.

“Mi amor…” he breathed, voice husky, “tell me to stop, and I will.”

You didn’t.

Instead, you slid your hands up his chest, fingers curling behind his neck. You pulled him down into another kiss—deeper, hotter—your body answering for you.

He groaned softly into your mouth, the sound almost reverent.

His lips moved to your jaw, the heat of his breath trailing down your neck. He lingered there, tasting your skin, memorizing the shape of you with slow kisses that grew hungrier when your breath stuttered.

“Nulla…” you whispered, fingers tightening in his hair. “I love you”

He shivered.

Your robe slipped off one shoulder.

Nulla’s lips followed the path it revealed.

He kissed the exposed skin slowly—each touch a question, a promise, a plea. His hand slid up your thigh, warm and steady, guiding you instinctively closer to the edge of the desk, closer to him.

When he looked up at you, his expression was molten—love and desire layered in equal measure.

“Let me have this moment,” he whispered. “Let me love you before the world tries to take you from me again.”

You reached for him, pulling him down until your lips brushed his ear.

“I’m yours tonight,” you whispered back. “ Forever more.”

He exhaled like the world had finally given him permission to breathe.

And with a slow, reverent touch, he lifted you onto the desk—

—and the night swallowed the rest in heat.

I willing waiting for you, Mi vida - Nulla